


Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

by knottyknerd



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, angbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knottyknerd/pseuds/knottyknerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Luthien comes to Beren's rescue, with Mairon left grievously wounded. Emotional and physical hurts are almost easily soothed away by Melkor. Supper fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

Music drifted through his every thought, tinting his dreams a strange shade of blue, akin to the color of his Master’s eyes. The Maia dreamt, for the first time since before the Ainulindalë. However this time his dreams were not made of images of gorgeous gems and metals wrought to perfection with flame and the strokes of a hammer falling rhythmically; no, these dreams were pain. They were tainted and impure.

            That elf maiden, Melian’s daughter, danced through his mind turning his sweet dreams into nightmares. She was surprisingly lovely for an elf wretch, though that must be the half of her that was Maia. In the dream she seemed strangely powerful, clothed in armor and seeming beautiful, and yet terrible. His tower at Tol-in-Gaurhoth trembled in her wake, as she demanded the mortal and the elf princeling he had captured released. _No, this was wrong_ , _this wasn’t how it happened._ Dream-Sauron laughed at her demand, and from his throne in the tower he set one of his beloved wolves out to _greet_ the impudent little girl. There was a snarl, a flash of red, and unimaginable pain as the wolf was slain. He could feel it’s life snuffed out, and another tremor ran through his tower. This was repeated once, twice, thrice, until he could not bear the loss of his pups anymore. They were his friends, his only friends here; he had to stay, it was what his master wanted. Instead of gut-wrenching pain he felt as though he had his heart ripped from his chest, but no – beings like him had no need to hearts, or love. With a wave of a bejeweled hand he sent Draugluin, knowing that the little elf certainly could not withstand his bite; he was older, and far more cunning than the pups – he would not lose.

            Hours seemed to pass in his little dreamland, the snarls of Draugluin the only thing he could hear from his throne. All seemed to be well, until he heard a high-pitched yelp that caused his blood to run cold. Somehow, Draugluin had been defeated. That tiny little elf _brat_ had killed his best wolf, the one that he had raised and bred and trained to be the best. His friend came limping into the throne room, crimson trailing in his wake. This moved Sauron to stand, and he moved to the wolf’s side. There he fell, knees landing in a pool of crimson, which ruined the silk of his robes in an instant. Draugluin placed his head in Sauron’s lap and took shuddering breaths. Sparks flew from the Maia’s hair out of anger, the elf girl was going to pay for what she had done, she was going to dance until she **burned**. The wolf turned his blurry vision to his master, and with his last breath he voiced the name of the one that had sent him to his death. Rage flowed from the Maia, and the stone around him and the wolf was scorched from his fury. Of course the girl had not come alone, of course she had brought that – that hound along with her. The hound that it was said only the greatest wolf could kill. The anger and grief that had twisted his unnaturally beautiful features was washed away with a revelation, and his mouth quirked up in a devilish grin.

            The first thing the girl heard was his howl, and it sent bloodcurdling fear into her heart, yet somehow she still had faith in the little hound at her side. She moved back from the bridge to the tower, hiding near its foundation, as Huan once again resumed a battle crouch. Suddenly the proud hound was knocked aside by a wolf far greater in stature than even Draugluin. The battle raged on, and for a time it seemed that Sauron, in the shape of the greatest wolf to live, would be victorious. He wounded Huan with his claws, and his teeth, his rage urging him on. He stood above Huan, and was going in for the killing blow when the great hound turned his head and grabbed Sauron by the neck. His orange eyes opened wide in surprise, and he let out a sound that was a cross between a growl and a yelp as the hound ripped his throat asunder, his blood spattering the ground in great torrents. In a panic he shifted to any form that could somehow gain his release from the sheer, burning pain, but to no avail. Finally, after running through a number of forms, he shifted back to the form that he always was – the one he assumed when all of the Ainu descended to Eä, the one called Mairon. His coppery locks were soaked through with his own blood, and his vision began to dance before his eyes as the little impudent elf-child moved to the hound’s side.

            She threatened him, saying that she would allow the hound to kill his fauna, and would thus send his tormented spirit back to the darkness of Angband, where he would certainly meet his Master’s scorn for the rest of his immortal life; unless he gave her the tower on Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Pain addled his brain, and he accepted, relinquishing his control of the isle that his Master so wanted to have, as a battle asset. Huan released his hold on Sauron, retuning to the elf maiden’s side, his eye on the struggling Maia. Sauron – no – Mairon, struggled to change form one last time, this time the form of a great bat, and he struggled until finally he got himself off of the ground. He was losing blood, and quickly. He needed to find a place where he could safely change his fauna, a place where his spirit could rest without being confined.

            He flew until he reached the forest of Taur-nu-Fuin. His energy was spent, and he came down, crashing through the trees until he landed in an injured, bruised, and broken pile on the forest floor. He had just enough strength left in his body to shift back to Mairon, before drifting into unconsciousness; the only images he saw before ultimately passing out were of his Master’s face, and the great rage and disappointment etched into his features.

 

~         ~         ~

            His eyes opened slowly, vision blurry as though he had been asleep for far too long. Mairon moved to stretch, and cried out softly as he felt almost every muscle in his body tense at his movements. What in the name of Eru had happened?

            “I see that you are awake, Mairon.” The little Maia froze and blinked a few times to clear his vision. He was in Angband, in his own private chambers. He could tell from the sheer heat of the room, and the scarlet fabric directly above him; he was on his bed, gazing up at the canopy above, and that voice, that was – “For a while there I was concerned that I would be losing my best Lieutenant.” _Melkor._ Panic flooded his system and he attempted to turn his head to the side to look for his Master, but as soon as he shifted his head even a little he cried out again, and his left hand flew to his neck. It was absolutely coated in bandages. _What happened?_ He wondered silently, until fear crept into his very soul. That dream, the hound… “I do admit that I am disappointed” that word cut Mairon to the core “that my Lieutenant was caught defenseless by a mere child and an overgrown rat, but then again, perhaps I put too much faith in you.” Mairon could see his Master coming before he actually came into the Maia’s field of vision – thanks to the iron crown upon his Master’s brow. The sight of that beautiful craftsmanship usually made Mairon glow with pride, but this time he felt almost sick with guilt, and shame. Melkor’s face was completely devoid of emotion, as were his eyes, which Mairon feel even worse.

            “M-Master I-“ Melkor held up a hand, and Mairon cut himself off.

            “If you were not so grievously wounded I would be stripping you naked and punishing you in front of the troops.” Mairon felt fear twinge through his system. Usually he did not mind his Master’s affections in public, in fact there was that one time that Gothmog walked into the war room – but that was beside the point. When his Master meant punishment it could mean a number of things, ranging from whips to dangling above his throne from hooks carved into his flesh. Punishments were serious, and meant to be embarrassing and painful. “However…” his ice blue eyes roamed over Mairon’s form on the bed. The Maia could finally see something in his eyes, but he could not tell if it was worry, or pity. “I can see that you almost gave your life to defend our outpost, and for that I must thank you Mairon.” His eyes widened and he stared at his Master in shock. This was the man that had sent him away, that had banished him to Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the one that no longer wanted him, or so he thought.

            Melkor moved and seated himself on the edge of the bed, close enough that Mairon could touch him. The Maia reached out a shaky hand and brushed his fingers against Melkor’s robes. They were soft, incredibly so, and Mairon let out a shaky sigh. So he wasn’t dreaming then. He looked up at his Master’s face and swallowed. His eyes were still cold, and his face was still hard set. Had he truly wronged his Master to that extreme? Mairon sighed internally. Of course he had. He had failed his Master utterly in the task that Melkor had set for him. Their military advantage had been lost, and Mairon knew deep down that if anything happened to his Master that he would be blamed utterly for it.

            Melkor sighed softly, almost imperceptibly and shook his head. “We have to change the bandages again. You have soaked through them twice. If I knew that you would be up for it I would have you change your fauna, but if you were to do that now it would certainly mean death, and I cannot have that.” He moved so that he was closer to Mairon’s face, looming over him, the Silmarils in his crown almost blinding. Marion squinted as Melkor tisked his tongue against his teeth and moved to remove the bandages on Mairon’s neck. “I have no idea what you were thinking, changing your form like that. You could have easily been killed.” While his voice was mostly kind Mairon could detect a hint of anger in his Master’s words.

            “You are a reckless, stupid, little Maia.” Even though his words were harsh he removed Mairon’s bandages with the utmost care, making sure that he did not rip off any areas that could have been scabbed over. Once the bandages were removed and air was allowed near the wound Mairon hissed. The warm air stung horribly, and he bit down on his lower lip in an attempt to disperse the pain elsewhere. Melkor shook his head and grabbed a bottle of salve from the table next to Mairon’s bed, where lay a number of lotions and potions that Melkor had already used on his ailing Maia. The Vala dipped two fingers into the salve and then smeared the sticky, putrid green substance over Mairon’s neck.

            “With another couple of treatments you should be able to reform your fauna and be right as rain.” Mairon couldn’t help but smile softly. There was the kinder side of his Master, talking himself through whatever task was at hand. “Had to give you stitches.” The Vala continues “As much as it pained me. You know I only like to mar your neck with pretty little bruises and bites.” Mairon hummed softly and gave the tiniest of smiles to his Master.

            “Yes sir.” He murmurs faintly, his hair sending up tiny sparks out of pleasure. Melkor cocks a brow.

            “You are injured, none of that.” Mairon sighs and allows Melkor to finish cleansing and wrapping the wound without interruption. The Maia gave a tiny yawn and sighed, while Melkor replaced the bottle of salve on the table and then moved to lay down next to his Maia. Mairon blinked and would have turned to look at him if it wouldn’t have pulled his stitches.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Sleeping with you, what does it look like I am doing?” The Vala almost growled his response as he protectively tucked himself around Mairon. “You are injured, and I will be here incase you need me in the night, or if that stupid girl tries to come here and finish the job herself. If I so much as see her again she is dead.” Mairon hums and internally preens at his Master’s actions and words. Usually they would only fall asleep together after sex, this was a wholly different affair, and Mairon couldn’t help but secretly love it. The Maia closed his eyes, and as he drifted to sleep he could have sworn that he heard Melkor softly murmur “never scare me like that again, or else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you all enjoyed this little one shot of mine. It is my first work for the Silmarillion and for Angbang in general, so if there are any mishaps with timelines or spelling of things I do apologize. Also much thanks to cryptic-coalition and dragonofmordor over on Tumblr for encouragement and the basis for the idea.


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